So in the same way that apparently Fleet is more than just a service station, it turns out that Frome is actually a town, and not just a river that runs through Dorchester. Who knew, eh? Frome is not a place I’d usually look to spend my Wednesday evening, but having come back to Dorchester for a week of well deserved (kind of) leave, watching the recently galvanised Magpies seemed a good idea.
Ina pleasant change from the usual running for trains due to eitherFred/Cam/myself being unable to tell the time or be arsed to get up due to
hangovers, instead, it was to be a car trip to Frome in Steve ‘The General’ Hill’s
motorcade. But disaster struck at 1pm when Berry and I received an official
communication from The General’s office stating he had been struck down by a
severe illness. However, with the club running a coach to the game, Berry and I
would travel on that, along with a good blend of Magpies fans and a strong
sense of optimism that we’d get a result.
The
journey itself was straight forward enough, although we were a man light as
Nibbler missed the collection time and the coach left without him. There were a
good number of faces on the coach, and also some very stylish backpacks,
including a little claret and blue number that made Clarkie look like ‘Dora The
Explorer’ on steroids, or indeed that he had just mugged year 3 pupil at Damers
First School. One or the other, if not both.
The
coach journey was an amusing hour or so, with some good debate about the
current state of the club, thoughts on the evening ahead and how we all
genuinely thought we’d get a result. A rumoured potential new signing was
one moot point, with Spuddy’s input on the subject being;
“Why
would he want to come back? Last time I seen him, I headbutted him in
Goldfingers.”
Well,
quite, Spud.
There
were however some different topics of conversation that involved reminiscing
about away trips of recent years gone by. The original Maidenhead trip and how
Clarkie recalled that the honeypot was a good ‘crack’ (sic). How Richards was adamant
that Mark Tyler who played in goal for Luton in the FA Cup that day was in fact
really short, like 4ft short. “No Luke, it’s because we were at the top of the
stand”.
Luton away was a good day, and in the lead up to it, one
Dorchester fan was so keen to go that he considered breaking the conditions of
his electronic tag and licence to make the trip. “I’ll only do 14 days back
inside, won’t I?” Loyalty to the Magpie cause.
But
enough of trips past, as the coach pulled into Frome, the focus shifted to the
game in hand. Frome is a nice enough little ground, with a pitch on a reasonable
sized slope, a very good social club, and an odd array of front doors that
double up as turnstiles. Letterboxes and all.
The pre-game atmosphere was
helped when Frome’s keeper over hit a cross in the warm up, which then struck
Ben White in the bollocks. A couple of pints of the rather nice 1904 ale and
some tactical sticker placement were the standard pre-match fare, and a look at
the team sheet showed one change from Saturday’s loss with Matt Oldring coming
in for (always take the) Lanners (with you).
The
same formation with a slight change of who played where saw us start pretty
well as we kicked downhill, and we had the better of the chances as the half
wore on. Despite the hosts hitting the post (either saved or deflected, I’m not
sure but will give AWH the benefit and say saved), we were the better side and
should have scored after Dills saw a header saved, the rebound was blocked on
the line by some mush from Frome. Bastard. But just before half time we did get
the goal we deserved when Dills was able to bury a free header from a corner
and spark some rather enjoyable celebrations. You could see by the players and
certainly by our reaction, that this goal mattered. There is no bad time to
take a lead, but doing so right on the halftime whistle was as deflating for
Frome as it was beneficial for us.
The
first half had a few other talking points, with Nathan Walker threatening to
rip Frome’s number 5’s head off at a corner, Clarkie refusing to walk half way
around the pitch to use a toilet, choosing to just piss in a nearby bin, and
Spud going one ‘better’ by watering a small section of the grass behind the
goal. Clarkie also took a rather curious line of interaction with the
goalkeeper asking if the keeper had “a number for ISIS so I can burn my
Mother”. Yep, we didn’t get it either.
Clarkie’s one man campaign against Frome
also saw him call some elder Frome supporters ‘helmets’, a word which they had
no idea what sort of context it was being used in, and also making a yelled
enquiry to one of our former players, Jack “I’m a baller” Tywford as he asked, ”Ere,
Twarbers, how does sitting on the bench here compare to the Avenue’s bench?
#baller my arse.”
The
second half started much as the first had finished with us having most of the
play, and just before the hour, we made it count as we got a second. Bradley
Tarbuck’s cross wasn’t properly cleared, allowing Nathan to smash in the loose
ball and embark on an Alan Shearer-esque celebratory run behind the goal,
with one arm aloft high five’ing any fans hands, or indeed portions of chips that
were within reach.
We were playing well and added a late third as (always take
the) Lanners (with you) headed in a free kick at the far post, despite their
‘keeper seeming furious that (always take the) Lanners (with you) had not obeyed
the shout of ”KEEPERS” and left the ball alone. Frome did score from a
deflected cross-cum-shot, but to be perfectly honest, those of us behind the
goal didn’t really care as we’d got another vital 3 points as our upturn in
form continues. VALIANT.
A
couple more pints in the bar afterwards, and quick chat with the players was
cut short when the coach eventually arrived to take us back to Dorch. It was a
largely uneventful return journey, although Welchy nearly missed the coach as
he accidently followed 2 Frome players to their car, Goddard sent us a vine
informing us just exactly what ‘The Roth’ was cooking, and Clarkie struggled
with the dynamics of using the toilet in a moving vehicle. Clarkie was soon to
fall asleep, and hopefully will return the bag to its six-year old owner at some
point today. But other than that the return home and one final stop in Snappys
capped off a good night, with another solid performance and three more valuable
points.
The
mood around the club had changed massively in a short space of time, and even
the prospect of spending my afternoon in Dunstable seems quite alright compared
to how things have been in previous months of the season. The celebrations of
the players after the goals and their reaction at the final whistle shows how
much the wins mean, and long may it continue as we look to build on this
current momentum.
And hopefully Spud will stop attempting to attack potential
transfer targets in local strip clubs. SV.
(More Fromians/Fromavarians turned up for Darts than the football. Probably quite understandable when you’re in the relegation zone of the Southern League – hark at us, now!)
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